


Flying Colours

by tenaya



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-09-01
Updated: 1988-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shuttle flight over Malodaar causes turbulence between Avon and Vila. Is their relationship fractured beyond repair?  This story takes place in Season Four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Colours

# FLYING COLOURS

  


## by Tenaya

  


##### Shout if you will, but that just won't do  
I, for one, would rather follow softer options  
I'll take the easy line; another sip of wine  
And if I ignore the face you wore, it's just a way of mine  
to keep from flying colours.

Don't lay your bait while the whole world waits  
Around to see me shoot you down — it's all so second-rate.  
When we can last for days on a loving night;  
or for hours at least on a warm whisper given.  
You always pick the best time to rise to the fight  
to break the hard bargain that we've driven  
Once again we're flying colours.

###### "Flying Colours"  
— by Jethro Tull

  


Avon walked briskly into the Xenon base control room. The room's only inhabitants, Vila and Soolin, had their heads bent forward over a puzzle game as they studied it. Avon walked on until he stood in front of them.

Vila moved one of the pieces and said, "You know, Soolin, I think I foresee a trip in your near future."

She stared at him then looked up at Avon. "Well? Is our resident psychic correct? Are we about to leave our cozy little base?"

"Yes. And we will all be going this time. Where are Dayna and Tarrant?"

"They're up on the surface; Dayna is teaching Tarrant how to track. Shall I call them in?" asked Soolin.

Vila groaned. "Oh no! How long a trip is this going to be?"

Avon stared at the wall. "Three days there, three days back plus a day or so at the planet, Malodaar."

"A week! What's so important that we all have to suffer for a week in that broken down closet that Tarrant calls a ship?" Vila complained.

Avon looked down at him. "It seems we've been invited," he stated matter-of-factly.

"RSVP, was it? Or 'come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly?'"

"Avon," Soolin repeated. "Shall I call them in or not?"

"I imagine another half day won't make much difference either way,' Avon said, his eyes lingering briefly on Vila. "Morning will be soon enough. Have Tarrant get the ship ready when he returns to the base. I'll be in my cabin completing some research, should anyone need me." He abruptly turned, leaving the room as suddenly as he had entered it.

Startled, Vila stared after the computer technician, his expression turning thoughtful.

* * * * *

In his cabin, Avon sat at his computer console, staring sightlessly at the screen while Orac flickered to itself on the table beside him. It was just past eleven p.m. and Avon was restless. He had felt sure that Vila would be by tonight, but now the technician had been working undisturbed for hours. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on the display, his mind flashing memories, both tactile and visual, of Vila as they had made love together a few nights before. Anger joined with the restlessness as he felt irritated at himself for being distracted, and annoyance with Vila for not showing up.

"Stupid idiot," he muttered, knowing that it would be over a week before they would have another opportunity to be alone together. Avon had considered going to Vila but some contrary, perverse impulse stayed him; he wanted Vila to come to him tonight. He wondered vaguely why it should be important, but his mind would not settle enough, even for that puzzle. His restive mood grew.

So distracted was Avon, that he almost missed the light, tentative knock at his door. The temptation to punish Vila for causing him this unrest nearly made Avon send him away. Instead, he waited a few moments, then announced, "Enter."

Vila, freshly showered and clothed only in a thick bathrobe, stepped past the threshold and held up two glasses and a carafe of wine. "I was wondering if you'd like a bit of company and a glass of Dorian's finest before you turn in?"

Avon indicated the room's other chair with a nod of his head. "I'll be done presently," he said, his voice void of any welcome. He turned and studied the screen, all attention now.

 _Not the warmest of welcomes_ , Vila thought as he closed and locked the door. Filling the two glasses with wine, he left Avon's on the small table beside him while he settled himself into a chair.

Vila took a small sip of his drink, content to sit and watch Avon work. In the past, he had experienced an odd pleasure at being able to observe the computer expert at work, knowing that Avon was probably the best there was in his field. The thief had learned a thing or two at the same time; security systems and high-tech locks were computer based as well. But now, to Vila's sharp eyes, he could see a tenseness in Avon, a stiffness to his posture.

He sighed inwardly. Sometimes dealing with Avon was like handling high explosives; you had to be very careful or else they'd blow up in your face. Vila began to consider a variety of ways to disarm Avon's mood before someone — namely himself — got hurt by it.

Ten minutes later, when neither man had moved, Vila quietly got up. He stood behind Avon, reading the information as it appeared on the screen. Ordinarily, interrupting Avon at work was a sure-fire way to irritate him, and that was the last thing that Vila wanted right now, but this stuff didn't seem that imperative.

Vila rested his hands on Avon's shoulders, gently massaging the hard, knotted muscles. "Come on, Avon. Give it a rest."

The technician froze, giving no clue as to his reaction.

Vila leaned down, lightly kissing Avon's neck, ear and side of his face. "You can play with Orac all you want during the next three days; what I want to do with you can only be done here. Tonight."

Avon sat back in his chair. "You're late."

 _Could something that simple be what's causing his mood?_ Vila dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared; the increase in Avon's moodiness had been happening ever since they lost the Liberator and Cally. Vila decided his lateness was more of a trigger than the cause. "Eh, yes I am. I wasn't sure if you wanted to be alone and work tonight, or if you'd mind me coming by."

"What changed your mind? And I use that term loosely." Avon's tone was faintly contemptuous.

"I wanted to see you, be with you," was Vila's simple reply as he chose to ignore Avon's last statement.

After a slight pause, Avon stored his project and turned off the computer. He stood up and turned to face Vila. "Come closer," he ordered.

Vila stepped up, his heart beginning to race now that he had Avon's undivided attention.

Avon reached down and loosened Vila's robe. He slipped a hand inside, curving it around the thief's waist. Giving a sharp jerk, he pulled Vila close, pressing the thief's naked body against the black leather that he wore. Avon gave a toothy and slightly predatory smile and dipped his hand into the robe's pocket. "What did you bring with you tonight?"

"Something from my collection," Vila replied distractedly, feeling Avon's hard arousal press against him through the clothing.

Avon brought a small bottle up to eye level. "Scented oil," he mused. "I think I can guess what you have in mind."

Avon brought his other arm around and clasped the thief to him in a tight embrace. Aggressively, he captured Vila's mouth in a long, demanding kiss. Ending it, he drew slightly back, his eyes dark and intent as he hungrily appraised the man in his arms.

Vila stared back at him, unnerved at the incredible effect Avon could still have on him. His hands roamed up across Avon's chest, seeking a way past the heavy, protective clothing. "Y'know, you should be careful or else all those metal studs of yours will leave marks on me body," he joked. Avon caught the thief's hands, directing them lower.

Vila looked up, puzzled. "Don't you want your clothes off?"

"Later."

 _He's got something definite in mind_ , Vila thought as he worked at the trouser's fastenings. When he'd finished and Avon's penis was released from the constricting clothes, Vila started to kneel down, taking a guess at what might please the technician.

Avon caught Vila under his arm and drew him back up to his feet. "No," be said, almost a whisper.

Vila stared up, confused. Avon placed the small bottle into his hands. "Now." It was a flat statement.

Vila frowned, finally catching the drift. He had never liked that position; it reminded him too much of his prison days and of being used.

Avon noticed his hesitation. "Do you refuse?" The question was frosted with a sudden anger. "It's your right to, if that's what you wish."

"No, no.. it's nothing like that," Vila hastily reassured him, bewildered by the quick flare up of hostility. Avon's even temper was nearly a thing of the past. Too many failures in too short a time were enough to stress out even the sturdiest personalities, and Avon was no exception. "You just surprised me, that's all," Vila soothed as he quickly opened the bottle, applying the contents thoroughly with firm squeezes onto Avon's erection. The oil tingled where it touched the skin, a delightful sensation and Avon arched, his head slowly falling back and to the side as he reflexively drew in a sharp intake of breath.

He placed his hands on either side of Vila's head, the fingers tightening involuntarily before they moved down Vila's neck and out across his shoulders, pushing the bathrobe off as they went.

Finished applying the oil, Vila shrugged out of the garment and looked up uncertainly, waiting for further instructions. The cool cabin air immediately began to steal Vila's warmth, his skin prickling from the sudden chill.

Avon smiled, and with a firm grip still on Vila's shoulders, pushed the thief backwards, toward the bed. Once there, he turned him around and held him close, rubbing himself slowly against Vila's smooth, yet muscular body, while his hands traveled knowingly across Vila's chest and stomach, seeking out their favorite, familiar places.

Vila shifted slightly, leaning back into Avon's warm embrace, trying to let himself be stimulated by the erotic movements. He preferred the touch of skin against skin, but he was finding the leather exciting, too. Just about anything Avon did, he found exciting.

Then he was being pushed down, nudged into a kneeling position on the bed. He positioned his hands far apart, bracing himself. Hard hands gripped his hips and he felt Avon press his erection against him. Then he was penetrated, feeling only faint discomfort and soon the oil's pleasing tingle had masked even that.

He closed his eyes and waited for Avon to find his rhythm. The slow, powerful strokes were unhurried and Vila concentrated on the sensation, quickly losing himself in Avon's sensual movements. Soon, he was leaning hack onto Avon's thrusts, arching his back slightly to allow the technician a deeper penetration.

Suddenly, his own erection was being gripped by a firm hand, causing him to jerk. Behind him, Avon groaned as he felt a tightening on his penis. "Yes…," Avon whispered, as he squeezed and pulled at Vila's organ.

Vila shuddered; prison sex had never been like this. Fast, brutal, impersonal and semi-violent, he had counted himself lucky if he escaped without a beating, too, never mind coming away with any pleasure for himself. He shifted restlessly, anxious to use his hands to join in and add to the excitement.

"Steady, Vila," Avon breathed, resuming his thrusting while he held onto Vila's erection, caressing him in sync with his own moves.

The double onslaught proved too much for Vila and it wasn't long before he climaxed. In his excitement, he shoved himself further back onto Avon as the spasms gripped his body.

Avon placed both hands on the thief, controlling the slighter man as his own thrusts became shorter and faster. He jerked Vila roughly to him, time and time again, until he could no longer hold back. The sweet rush of intense pleasure coursed through him and he dug his fingers into Vila's hips as he came.

Exhausted, he leaned over the thief, resting on top of Vila's back as he regained his breath. When the thief started to wobble a little from the weight, he pushed himself back up, carefully withdrawing from Vila. Reaching down, he pulled his partner up and held him close. Running one hand over his chest and stomach, he used his other to grip Vila's chin and turn him until he could each his mouth. The kiss was long and deep, in passionate appreciation for their latest coupling, and it left Vila weak all over.

Avon broke the kiss off, giving Vila's bum a quick squeeze. "Now you can take my clothes off," he said with a small but genuine smile.

Vila relaxed, relieved to see that Avon was now free of tension. And if he was suffering from yet another of his mercurial mood swings, at least this one was in a better direction. It was amazing that a little recreational sex could disperse stress so quickly.

At least for now.

* * * * *

##### Keeping cool by mutual permission  
How did the conversation get to where we came to blows  
We were set up in a red condition  
And again we're flying colours.

The shuttle's engines strained as the nose of the craft pitched up into a new trajectory. Vila uncurled from his terrified huddle and crawled out of his hiding place, knowing he was safe now, knowing that Avon was occupied by piloting the ship.

Vila stood up, his legs weak and shaking. He could still hear Avon calling his name, begging for help in that eerie, unreal tone he had never heard before. Vila had known, with an icy certainty, that he was going to die. There had been nowhere to run, and no one to run to, either. The man who had been his efficient and reliable protector had suddenly become his destruction, with all that terrible efficiency directed at Vila's death. He knew Avon, and knew that when he was discovered, his pleading and begging would be worthless — Avon would not let something like that deter him.

Vila leaned weakly against the bulkhead, wiping the tears away from his eyes, trying to get a grip on his emotions. The shuttle would dock soon with Scorpio and then he would be safely through that airlock at the first possible instant, hopefully even before Avon had had a chance to leave the shuttle's flight deck.

Vila was simply too scared to see Avon alone; he couldn't bear to look him in the eye, knowing that for a brief but eternal moment, Avon had been his death. The thought of having to face Avon again was nearly making him panic like he usually did when death was near. What made it worse was that Avon had been his security. Vila's world could not have been more shattered. He had nothing now except his young crewmates on Scorpio who he knew tolerated him mainly because Avon demanded it. It wasn't much, but it was all he had and he was anxious for their presence; he would feel marginally safer when he had to face Avon.

* * * * *

Vila stared at Avon with unconcealed anger as the computer expert explained to the others what had happened on the shuttle.

"And you moved it, on your own?" asked Soolin upon hearing about the speck of neutron star that had been placed on the shuttle to sabotage it.

"I couldn't find Vila," Avon said flatly.

"I'm glad about that!" The open hostility in Vila's voice drew surprised and puzzled locks from Dayna and Soolin.

Tarrant was oblivious. "Pity about the tachyon funnel, though."

"We had no choice," Avon said quickly, almost defensively.

"It's a trip I won't forget, Avon." Vila's words were said with quiet threat, each one emphasizing the chilly promise.

Avon felt every barb Vila had thrown at him. He was confused by what had happened, the events too recent to be fully understood. He had no defense for what he'd nearly done, nothing to throw back at Vila to protect himself. He took the next best strategy — a strong offense as a good defense. He looked Vila straight in the eye. "Well, as you always say, Vila: you know you are safe with me."

Disbelief and pain welled up in Vila's eyes. He held Avon's gaze, trying to stare him down and make Avon turn away in shame. It didn't work, though, and Vila turned abruptly, trying to hide his hurt. Avon watched dispassionately, a numb satisfaction chilling him when he saw that he'd hit his mark so thoroughly.

This time even Tarrant noticed the by-play. He watched open-mouthed as Vila fled into one of the sleep chambers, sealing himself in. The pilot turned back to Avon, about to question him on the thief's unusual behavior, but was stopped dead by one of the coldest, most forbidding expressions he had ever seen.

The technician held the stare until the tension was nearly unbearable. He turned to Slave then and gave orders to return to Xenon base.

Tarrant released the breath that he didn't even know he had been holding. Dayna used the opportunity to take her seat, sharing an incredulous and wary look with Tarrant. Both were uneasy at a situation they didn't understand.

Soolin knew danger when she saw it. She nonchalantly changed her flight position, taking the corner, back chair — the one where she could cover everyone on board. Things were wrong, terribly wrong. Settling lightly on the chair, she resigned herself with the realization that she was in for three of the longest, tension-filled days she would ever see.

* * * * *

##### Shout — but you see it still won't do  
With my colours on I can be just as bad as you  
Have I had a glass too much? Did I give a smile too few?  
Did our friends all catch the needle match — did we want them to?  
We act the parts so well, like we wrote the play  
All so predictable and we know it.  
We'll settle old scores now, and settle the hard way  
You may not even live to outgrow it!  
Once again we're flying colours.

Six days later, the situation had deteriorated even more. Avon, on his infrequent appearances, had been curt and coolly distant when he had happened across either Dayna, Tarrant or Soolin in the halls of Xenon base. His behavior was exasperating but it was Vila's behavior that had changed the most dramatically. The thief would disappear for many hours, then wander into one of the common rooms, usually with a bottle in hand, seemingly seeking companionship. He would ramble on desolately, and yet when someone would try to rouse him from his unhappy state, his mood would quickly change, snapping at or insulting his would-be helper. None of his younger crewmates were known for their forgiving or patient ways, and Vila was quickly becoming more of an irritation than anyone was willing to put up with.

Vila had been sitting in the kitchen for over an hour, becoming more sullen and angry as his thoughts kept returning to the shuttle ride over Malodaar. Perversely, he began to imagine what would have been the results if he had had any of his other companions on the shuttle with him instead of Avon. It didn't tax his imagination too much to see, without exception, the results would not have changed. His sense of worthlessness increased and he became overwhelmed with a panicky, trapped feeling. What was he going to do? Automatically, his thoughts turned to Avon as they'd always done in the past when he'd felt threatened. But he found no comfort — only a keen sense of betrayal and pain.  
Vila heard someone approach and he tensed; in his present state of mind, he was wary of everyone.

Tarrant came strolling in, glanced briefly at Vila, then went to the food dispenser, ordering himself a snack. "I see you're still enjoying your sulk," he said conversationally. "One of these days you're going to have to do something about your appearance; you look terrible, Vila."

"Unless you've been appointed as fashion consultant, you can mind your own business, Tarrant," he snapped.

The tall pilot turned to face Vila. The thief had been insulting him frequently during the last few days and he was tired of it. "I've had about all I can take of your smart mouth," he said angrily, walking a few steps closer.

Vila stood and started to leave the room, but he paused in front of Tarrant. "I imagine your tolerance for anything 'smart' is rather low. In fact, I'm surprised you can recognize it at all without someone else to point it out to you."

As Vila turned to leave, Tarrant reached out and roughly grabbed his arm, restraining him. Leaning over Vila, he bristled, "You've been walking around here with a chip on your shoulder as big as a star cruiser since we've come back from Malodaar. Now, I want to know what the hell is the matter!"

Vila glared up at him. "Go to hell, Tarrant!"

"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me."

"I'll tell you what's the matter: I'm sick and tired of being bullied by you! Now let go!" Vila tried to jerk his arm free, but Tarrant held on easily. Infuriated and overflowing with frustration, Vila began to struggle in earnest. He caught sight of Tarrant's face, seeing in his rage what he thought was a smug smile on his face. That was too much and he hit Tarrant, the blow striking the big mouth that always seemed to be taunting him.

Tarrant reacted reflexively to the sudden pain and he threw Vila violently to the floor. The thief slid against the wall with a thud. Instantly, Tarrant pounced on the smaller man, sitting on his stomach, grabbing his wrists to restrain him. Vila continued to fight for a time, then submitted, realizing there was no way he could win this battle. Defeated, he closed his eyes, turning his head to the side. "Just leave me alone…please…," he begged, miserable beyond belief.

Tarrant stared down at him, his anger softening by pity. He felt out of his depth, but he stiffened his resolve. "No, Vila. You can't go on like this." He let go of one of Vila's wrists and took hold of his chin, forcing the thief's head to face him. "Tell me what is wrong."

Suddenly, a hard arm was around Tarrant's throat in a vice-like grip, pulling back, tearing the pilot off Vila.

"You've just made a hell of a mistake, Tarrant," Avon growled with barely contained fury. Avon, a closed, unreadable look on his face, stared down at Vila lying frightened on the floor. "If you're going to go, Vila, I suggest you do it now."

Without a word, Vila pulled his legs out from under Tarrant and Avon, and rolled to his feet. He fled the room without a backward glance.

Avon looked down at Tarrant. "I don't know what the hell you were up to, Tarrant, but don't try anything like that, ever again. Understand?" Feeling a slight nod of the head, Avon released his chokehold and stepped quickly back, his body ready in case the pilot came up fighting.

Tarrant got slowly to his feet and turned around. He was angry, but not as angry as he once would have been. He took a deep breath and said, "Vila hasn't been acting right and he's been impossible to get along with." He paused, using his thumb to wipe off a smear of blood from his lip. He noticed Avon following the movement with his eyes. "That's right; 'cowardly little Vila' is beginning to fight back." He stared Avon right in the eye. "I wonder what happened to cause that, eh Avon? What happened on Malodaar?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Anything that disrupts our working together as a team concerns me. It may be my life that's at stake."

"Self-interest," Avon stated coolly.

"Of course. That's a topic that is near and dear to your heart. In fact, it's probably the only thing that is," he baited.

Avon stared at him in stony silence. He knew that Tarrant was aware of the relationship he was having with Vila, and he wondered if there was more to that statement than there seemed to be. "Shut up, Tarrant," he said, but it was said without any real energy.

"You'd better do something about Vila, Avon — before he gets even further out of hand," Tarrant warned. The two men stared at each other for a few heartbeats, then Avon turned and walked out of the room. Tarrant gave a heavy sigh and threaded his hand through his curly hair. _Talk about dancing with the devil,_ he thought shakily, amazed that they had not ended up in a battle. It was especially amazing when you considered that Avon had been different lately, more easily upset.

"I need a drink," he mumbled to the room at large and went in search of one.

* * * * *

Avon was halfway to his workroom when he slowed to a stop. As much as he hated to admit it, Tarrant was right — he had to do something about Vila. The thief's emotionalism was out of control and affecting everyone on the base. If something wasn't done, the situation would only grow worse. He had hoped that Vila would calm down once they had returned to base, but the thief had gotten worse, if anything. If Vila had struck Tarrant, then he was giving up his protective sham of being helpless and non-threatening. Avon knew Vila too well to believe that he could compete with the others by being hard — it just wouldn't work. It showed the strain he was under that he'd even consider such a move.

No, he'd have to have it out with Vila, get things back to a semi-normal state, if it was at all possible. Tell the truth, it would be a relief to Avon, as well; it had not been easy for him, either. The few times he'd come across Vila, he had felt his cold, angry stare, had sensed his hurt. It was cruel to allow Vila to sustain this hate when Avon had it in his power to ease the thief's pain, or to at least try to. A fragment of memory drifted by, of Cally softly saying, "Cruelty is the only unforgivable sin." It was strange how her arcane sayings had a habit of becoming comprehensible at the oddest times, perhaps even years later.

Well, he would try to make amends.

He turned and walked back to the control room, where Orac was. He inserted the activator key and Orac whirred into life.

"Orac, can you lock and unlock the doors here on Xenon base?"

"Such a simple function is beneath me!" Orac fussed.

"Serving as a pot for a plant won't be beneath you if you don't answer me."

There was a distinct pause, then Orac answered. "Yes, I can control the doors."

Avon gave a small smile of victory. "Good. I'll need you to unlock then lock Vila's door at my command. I'll be using my teleport bracelet." He paused, then added, "He may try to open the door but I want you to keep it locked until I say otherwise. Understood?"

Orac answered stiffly. "Yes, Avon."

"Good," Avon said, putting on his bracelet. "Thank you, Orac."

Soon he was outside the thief's door. He wasn't positive Vila would be there, but it did seem to be the most likely place to find him.

He knocked. There was no answer and he had not really expected one. Raising his  
bracelet, he instructed, "Orac, open Vila's door, then lock it when it shuts. Acknowledge."

The door popped open in response and Avon slipped inside, shutting the door after him.

Vila looked up from where he sat at his desk, head in hand. "How did you get in here? No, never mind. I don't care. Just get the hell out of here, Avon. You're not welcome."

Avon moved slowly into the center of the room. "We have to talk," he said quietly.

"I don't have to do anything you say," Vila snarled. "Get out!" When Avon remained still, Vila glared at him and said, "Right! Fine. You stay; I'll go." He got up so abruptly, his chair turned over. Eyes forward, he stalked to the door and tried to open it. When it stayed shut, he jabbed at the control buttons with short jerks as he keyed in the code. The door remained locked. Vila stared at it for a few seconds. "Orac," he whispered, then whirled about, his anger suddenly replaced by a quick bolt of fear as he realized he was trapped, and just who had him trapped. "What do you want?" he said, his fright a palpable presence.

Avon had walked over to the upended chair. He reached down and set the chair back on its legs. "I want to try to put things right between us."

Vila walked a few steps forward. "You tried to kill me, you bastard! How the bloody hell can you make that right?" The raw anger and hurt was bare on his face.

Avon was expecting the accusation but was caught unprepared by its force.

Avon's hesitation further enraged Vila. "What's the matter? Got nothing to say? I know, why don't you call me expendable again, eh? I've always been expendable, haven't I? But you know what really takes the cake? You've been using me in your bed all these years, haven't you? You've never cared — all you wanted was an easy screw and you thought the stupid Delta was the easiest touch. And besides, who the hell cares if he gets hurt!

"Well, I've had it! No one is going to use me, ever again! I can be just as bad as you, you know. Now open the damn door or else!"

Avon totally ignored the threat. "As usual, you have everything wrong, Vila," he said calmly, quietly.

Vila was ablaze with fury. He stared hard at the computer expert, then lunged at his wrist. "Give me the goddamn bracelet!"

Avon deflected the grasp, but was caught up in a struggle. He tried to immobilize Vila but the thief was incredibly wiry and elusive. The match was short but exhausting, finally ending with both on the floor, holding each other in a steely grip.

As the struggle paused, Avon twisted slightly so he could stare at Vila, eye to eye. "And what would you have had me do?" he hissed. "Nothing at all until we burned up in the atmosphere on re-entry? Is that what you really wanted to become of us?"

The physical exertion had depleted much of Vila's rage, but he still had some fight left in him. "I'm not stupid enough to believe that you were only trying to help me," he sneered. "You were trying to save your own skin at the expense of mine."

 _Progress,_ thought Avon. _At least he's listening to me._ Aloud, he said, "Do you think I would have behaved any differently if it had been one of the others and instead of you?"

"That's not something I'd brag about, if I were you."

"Come off it, Vila. We both know what it takes to survive. You knew what I'd do — you hid before I'd even started looking for you."

"That doesn't make it right," Vila muttered defensively.

"And when have you known life to be right or fair?"

Avon could see his answer in Vila's eyes but the thief was quiet. "I can't trust you any more," Vila finally said.

"You've always known how much you can trust me; that hasn't changed."

"It didn't mean anything to you; you don't care…"

"Is that what you really believe?"

"You never say anything."

"Have I ever?"

"Have you ever cared about anyone or anything?"

Wearily, Avon said, "What do you think?"

And Vila could sense the many emotional scars Avon carried. Some he could put name to: Tynus, Blake, Cally and Anna; others he knew nothing about. Suddenly, an old memory popped into his mind, of Avon saying, "I have never understood why it is necessary to become irrational in order to prove that you care, or indeed why it is necessary to prove it at all."

Doubt plagued him. "How's a person to know if you don't tell them?" he said, his emotional state never more fragile than it was at that instant.

Avon's eyes grew dark as he sensed the change in Vila; the anger had fled, leaving behind hurt, uncertainty, and a need to know that he mattered. "I never thought words were necessary with you." He leaned close and laid a light, gentle kiss on Vila's lips.

The thief just stared at him, then twisted forward, burying his face in Avon's shoulder. "I don't know anymore!" he said, misery and confusion combining into a desolate cry.

Compassion welled up in Avon. He was no stranger to the emotion but he habitually tried to suppress it; compassion for others usually ended up by making your own life more difficult. But this time he just reacted. He put both arms around Vila and hugged him tightly. "I told you; you'd be safe with me."

"You said that to mock me," Vila's accusation was full of despair.

Avon sighed. "I'm sorry it came out that way; that shuttle ride wasn't exactly pleasant for me, either."

"You would have killed me," Vila repeated, still unable to come to terms with it.

"I had no choice. When I did have a choice, I took it immediately, even though it would have been faster to keep locking for you."

"You didn't know where I was."

"There's only one place you could have been on that stripped down shuttle."

Avon felt Vila tense in his arms. With a touch of fear in his voice, he asked, "If you knew where I was, how come — "

"It's obvious to me now where you must have been, but at the time… I just didn't see it. There were only a few minutes left and I wasn't thinking…very well," he finished lamely.

As Vila considered this, the silence stretched out. Finally, he said, "I'm tired," though that was hardly the word for it. It had been years since he'd been this emotionally wrung out.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Avon asked quietly.

"Yes."

Avon could read nothing in the colorless statement. "Alone?" he asked hesitantly.

Vila stared dully over Avon's shoulder. _What do I want? He tries to kill me and then I'm so furious at him over the last six days that I can't even think straight. Now, he's asking me to share his bed again._

A ghostly little voice in his mind answered him. _The bed you've willingly been sharing with him for over two years._

Vila thought of all the dangers they had shared for even longer than that, and the fact that Avon had kept him safe from danger on numerous occasions. This last trial had nearly rent their relationship, but now he sensed healing had set in. It was too early to tell, but this might have forged a stronger bond between then. They had survived. True, there was a sad, bittersweet air now between then, but perhaps in time that too might clear.

Life held no guarantees, as Vila had long since learned; he'd just forgotten that fact. He remembered it now and felt vulnerable to the vagaries of life and his eventual mortality. He wanted, no, he needed comforting right now.

Vila tightened his grip on Avon — strong, fearless, competent Avon — and held him close. "No. I don't want to be alone."

Avon gave a heavy sigh. "I am sorry you were hurt, Vila."

Vila realized that that was probably the closest he would ever get to an apology from Avon. Truthfully, was more than he'd dared hoped for and it was honestly given. That simple statement went a long way toward easing his pain.

He rolled away from Avon and clambered to his feet. "I'm gonna clean up before bed," he said when he saw Avon's questioning look.

Avon watched him disappear into the bathroom, unsure of Vila's precise mental state. He finally decided that, more than likely, Vila didn't even know his own mental state. Avon got slowly to his feet and prepared himself for bed. He would continue to play this by ear.

Ten minutes later, Vila reappeared, clothed in a pair of soft sleeping trousers. He hesitated in the doorway, darting an anxious glance at Avon as he lay in the bed. A haunted, uncertain expression overcame him.

Avon stared back for a few seconds, then looked down. "There is nothing more I can say, you know. I can't promise that, being trapped again in the same circumstances, it'd be any different; I'd be lying to you if I did." He looked up at him, his gaze direct and steady. "And I won't lie to you, Vila." When Vila stayed quiet, Avon asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

That seemed to shock Vila out of his thoughts. "No. No," he said with a slow shake of his head. He dimmed the lights and, with only the merest pause, joined Avon in the bed.

Avon waited a few moments, then cautiously worked his arm around Vila and drew him close when he sensed no real reluctance in the thief. Vila half turned, shifting himself about until he found a comfortable position in which to rest against Avon in.

They had lain quietly for what seemed a long time when Vila said, very softly, "We've been living on the thin line too long, Avon. None of us are getting any younger or stronger. It's only a matter of time till we're caught, tortured and killed."

Avon felt the hand that lay across his chest contract, more than likely in fear. He put his hand over Vila's, steadying it, trying to lend Vila strength through their touch. "Well now. Maybe it's time for us to make a stronger offense."

"Do you think it'll make any difference?"

Avon considered it. "It'll make a difference to someone, I promise you that."

It was many minutes later when Vila sighed and said, "I can't get to sleep."

Avon propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Vila. "I know a cure for that," he said, and them leaned down and carefully, gently, kissed Vila's mouth.

"I thought you said that was a cure for headaches."

"It is."

Vila stared skeptically up at Avon. "I'm glad you didn't become a doctor; I'm not sure your patients would do very well."

Avon smiled, ever-so-slightly. "Don't you think you should try my remedy before you complain about it?"

"To be fair, you mean? Perhaps you're right."

"Good. You won't regret it. Now relax…" he said as he bent to his task. Avon resolved that this time he would concentrate totally on Vila. Sometimes a physical apology was more lasting, more real, than mere words.

And this particular apology was going to be one neither man would soon forget.

Avon, with gentle firmness, pressed Vila back on to the bed. As he stared down at the thief, the pupils of the technician's eyes dilated in involuntary response to a sight that brought him pleasure — the sight of Vila lying beneath him. Avon's chest tightened as he realized how lucky he see to have this second chance. He would make the most of it.

He decided he would do all the things that brought Vila the most pleasure. Avon knew exactly what actions these were because of Vila's incredible responsiveness during lovemaking.

Avon started with a kiss, tender and lingering, while he caressed the side of Vila's throat with slow, circular pressure.

When Avon sensed hesitancy in Vila, he decided to change tactics. He slowly brought the kiss to an end, then leaned forward, giving Vila's forehead a kiss just above the bridge of his nose. "Stay put," he whispered.

Sitting up, Avon reached down to a drawer on the nightstand beside the bed. Pulling it open, he rummaged around until he found what he wanted — massage oil. He opened it and placed it on the table. He stood and turned to face Vila, knowing the light brown eyes would be watching him. Avon had to smile at Vila's slightly worried expression; it was so typical.

Vila gave a tentative smile back, reassured by Avon's expression.

The technician bent over him, sweeping the covers back. Reaching down, Avon untied the drawstring and tugged Vila's trousers down and off. He was warmed by the fact that the thief arched up slightly to facilitate the garment's removal.

"Roll over," Avon murmured, nudging Vila into action by pulling his shoulder and hip toward him. When he had him settled on his stomach, he casually draped the trousers over Vila's behind, a silent declaration of his immediate intentions. Perceptively, Vila relaxed at the action.

Using the oil, Avon began a thorough massage of the thief, starting with his neck, shoulders and back. He was no expert, unlike Vila, but he was better than average; he'd had too many massages not to have learned something. The knotted muscles slowly on coiled under Avon's persistence and the technician imagined that he was physically working the lingering doubts out of Vila.

Avon moved down his arms, kneading the flesh until he got to the hands. He took exceptional care there, working his fingers around the long bones that made up the palm and then squeezing and rubbing each graceful digit, mindful of the talent that resided there. Next, he massaged the legs, spending more time on Vila's sensitive feet than on the calf muscles and lower legs.

When Vila seemed completely limped and relaxed, Avon returned to his back. The strong, decisive strokes up and down the rib cage soon had Vila giving out low moans of approval. Deciding the time was right to change tactics again, Avon slipped the cloth off the thief and concentrated his attentions on the thighs and hips, the firm massage now giving way to lighter, more erotic touches as he traced the living contours of flesh.

Vila groaned, bonelessly rolling over onto his back, exposing the place where he most desired attention.

Avon smiled. He lay down next to Vila and kissed him long and deep, his tongue tickling the sensitive roof of the thief's mouth. Vila undulated with pleasure, his hands threading themselves through Avon's thick hair as he held him close.

As Vila wriggled nearer to Avon, his passion flaring, demanding more contact, Avon broke off the kiss. "Do you want me tonight?" he asked, sure that Vila would understand the question. Even though Avon usually dominated their lovemaking, he'd allowed Vila the occasional novelty of penetrating him. Variety and experimentation was something that both men enjoyed.

Vila opened his eyes to stare at Avon, the usual light brown color totally eclipsed by the dark pupils that were now vague with distraction. "I'll take a rain check," he murmured before he arched up into Avon for another of his incredible kisses.

Avon obliged, but this time he let one hand wander down and across Vila's torso while the other hand cradled his head. He encountered Vila's taut erection and began to stroke it, causing Vila to moan again as he squirmed about. Avon moved his kisses down Vila's neck and chest, sparing none of the thief's more  
sensitive spots.

Finally, he reached the center of Vila's excitement. Without pausing, his kisses continued up the shaft. When he reached the tip, he engulfed it, totally, applying light, alternating suction as he swirled his tongue around the organ. Avon had decided to extend this for as long as possible and did not increase the  
intensity of his stimulations. Instead, he maintained his actions so that Vila was experiencing a sustained, thrilling arousal. The thief's body undulated and contracted, broadcasting his pleasure openly with innocent delight.

When Avon had withheld completion as long as he dared from Vila, he steadily increased the intensity of his attentions.

Avon was surprised when Vila began tugging at his shoulders. When he hesitated, the thief withdrew himself and pulled Avon up beside him.

"I want to be held," he explained, his voice husky. "I want to share, not just receive," he said as he twisted his lower body at an angle, letting his hips turn more toward the mattress.

Avon understood, and helped turn Vila, lifting the right leg until it rested close to Vila's chest.

"Better?" he asked as he applied some of the oil to his own throbbing erection.  
Vila didn't bother answering, his eyes full of desire as he watched Avon's actions.

Carefully, Avon crawled on top of Vila. He put both arms around the thief's torso until he was cradling him. Tensing his hips, he probed at Vila. The smaller man squirmed a little, making himself more accessible. Avon found the opening and contracted his groin, pressing himself slowly inwards. He captured Vila 's mouth in another deep kiss as he journeyed steadily onwards, until he had fully impaled the thief. He rocked slowly back and forth, giving a slight circular motion to his hips. In one hand he held the nape of Vila's neck and he rubbed at its base, knowing how it usually excited the thief to have this vulnerable spot focused on. His other hand curved under Vila's flexed leg, reaching for his manhood. Avon had to twist his shoulder toward Vila to accomplish this but it was worth the slight awkwardness when Vila shuddered at his touch.

Locked together, their embrace continued and they were lost in the multiple sensations of their mutual stimulation. Time ceased to be and only they existed, so entwined that their individual borders were blurred and indistinct. Their unhurried passion repeatedly brought them close to orgasm, only to recede slightly as they sustained their burning desire.

In the end, it was impossible to state with any certainty who came first or how often, only that finally, exhaustion overcame them. They quit their movements and lay quietly in each other's arms, fulfilled and relaxed. When Avon realized he was drifting off to sleep, he withdrew from Vila and settled beside him, hugging him tightly. Vila snuggled closer, pulling Avon near. He had, for now, forgotten the reason for Avon's exceptional lovemaking, his mind dazed from his spent passion. Sleep overcame him and he willingly gave himself over to its sweetness.

Avon lay peaceably, at rest with the world for the first time in weeks, perhaps even months. As his mind emerged from the encompassing blaze that had consumed it, he calmly considered his life from a new perspective. The softly rhythmic rise and fall of Vila's chest soothed and reassured him at some fundamental level.

His gaze rested fondly on Vila as he considered him. Vila measured his safety in the strength of his allies, and perhaps he was right. Maybe it was time to court and form a coalition for, on their own, Avon and his crewmates were slowly losing ground against their many enemies. They would not be able to stand alone much longer.

He shifted slightly, laying his leg over Vila's and possessively edging him closer still, his hand sliding down Vila's flank and hip, coming to rest on his ass. Vila responded, more asleep than not, by burrowing closer and sighing into Avon's shoulder. Tenderness welled up in the technician and he laid a gentle kiss on the thief's forehead. He rested his face against Vila's head, noting how cool the silky, golden-brown hair felt against his cheek.

How could he have ever considered killing Vila? _Survival,_ came the quick answer from the analytical side of his brain. He smiled sadly as he realized that that's what it would always boil down to.

Well then, he vowed to himself, he'd try a little harder to insure the survival of all his companions. He'd made too many errors lately and this game he played was for keeps.

Holding Vila close, he began to plan.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in Southern Comfort, #4.75.


End file.
